A Failed Experiment
by kickslikeapony
Summary: An interpretation of Derek's actions towards the end of The Coup. Set after the Tom/Derek confrontation. One-shot.


**A/N: This is a one-shot set after Tom and Derek's confrontation in The Coup (1x08). Also note that it's written through the tinted lenses of a Cartwills shipper. :P All dialogue is the same as what's in the episode, and this is just my interpretation of Derek's actions.**

Derek angrily kicked a pebble in his path, sending it rolling down the street. Tom's words echoed in his head. _He was having sex with your father!_

_Sex. With your father._

_Your father._

He kicked the pebble again, having stridden up to where it had landed. It flew to the side of the pavement, falling at the side of a rubbish bin. He had controlled his anger, just lightly slapping Tom on his cheek. Shouting at him. He could have punched the guy, but they still had to work on the musical together. Their friendship had become strained over the years; if they were any more hostile, Derek wasn't sure if it would be a conducive working environment. They would probably mutually reject each other's opinions.

But his opinions had already been rejected, hadn't they? He had thought Eileen would support him. And she had, until some conversation she had with her daughter made her realise that "we've made a terrible mistake". It was a load of bullshit. Ryan had written a wonderful song, one that exhibited the side of Marilyn that Tom and Julia's songs failed to portray. The seductive siren. Her nubility. The innocent girl wandering into the big, bad world of Hollywood, and becoming not-so-innocent in the progress.

The song wasn't what anyone would consider traditional Broadway, but it was still performable on stage. Karen had done well. Not too bad for a twenty-four-year-old. She could play the sex; that was for sure. Derek was almost apologetic for bringing her into what had become a terrible mess. Their secret rehearsal days had shown him that underneath that appearance of a sweet, naïve, doe-eyed girl was a vivacious young lady. Who was apparently now comfortable talking back to him.

_Oh, yeah, back off, Derek._

In most situations he would have been irritated. Offended, even. But he was merely amused when she said that. An intriguing young lady, indeed. He would have fired back a line in return, but he respected Ryan's opinion, and had made do with a raised eyebrow.

_Now I'll just have to wait for the bloody meeting tomorrow. See what bullshit we're going to have to agree to disagree on._ Derek rolled his eyes for no one in particular to see, stepping into his apartment building.

* * *

><p>"Alright. Yesterday's experiment provided us with some interesting information." Oh, yes, indeed. That basically no one agreed with him about the direction of the musical.<p>

"We don't need different composers, since the ones we have are brilliant." Brilliantly daft, yes. Derek couldn't suppress the eye roll that was coming on.

"However if this project is going to move forward, we do need a star." Right. No comment on that one. Saying that after firing Michael Swift, someone he considered perfect for the role of Joe DiMaggio, seemed ironic.

"Ivy…" Oh, obviously it was Tom who would say that. If he ever stopped composing, he could take up a job as Official Ivy Protector and Cheerleader.

"Is terrific. But we have to be realistic. So I'm gonna talk to Bernie and ask him to put together a list of people who are available and interested for Marilyn. That's all." Well, he wasn't sure if he could see anyone other than Ivy or Karen as Marilyn. Maybe they would find someone else. No one came to mind, though.

"Oh, Tom? Julia?" Eileen's words stopped them on their way out the door. "We're also gonna need a title." Well, marvellous. Their brilliantly daft composers would probably come up with a title that was as daft as they were.

And as if his mood wasn't bad enough. There was that assistant of Tom's again, who seemed to be perpetually around. Ah, correction – this irritating prick was apparently Eileen's assistant now. What was wrong with her judgement nowadays?

He exited the building without much of a goodbye to Tom or Julia, walking off in the opposite direction. A distraction was needed. Something to take his mind off what was clearly doomed for failure. A drink would be nice.

Sod that. Derek was going to need more than one perfunctory drink.

* * *

><p>The drinks weren't working. He was still sober. It was times like this when Derek regretted having high alcohol tolerance. Sex. Sex would be good.<p>

He could easily have sex with Ivy. Appease her paranoia. Say the right things. Derek stalked off to Ivy's apartment, preparing a list of excuses and soothing words in his head.

* * *

><p>Derek knocked loudly on her door. He was banging the door, really, the sound resounding through the hallway. "Go away," he could hear vaguely. Oh, he wasn't going to go away. He was here for a reason, and Derek Wills will not just go away.<p>

He knocked more insistently. "I'm not kidding. Go away."

He rolled his eyes at the door. _I'm not kidding, either._ He knocked on the door again, getting only two knocks this time round, when it opened. _Ah, the maiden succumbs._

She stared at him, as he stared back, injecting a tired look in his eyes. Well, he actually was tired, so it wasn't that difficult to show the fatigue. "You alright?" he asked, soft and low.

"What do you think?" Heck, he wasn't going to engage in emotional guessing games. Dodging her question, he crossed his arms, leaning in the doorframe, "I think show business sucks." Pausing for a moment, he added, "I think you are truly gifted." This was no lie. Ivy was talented. She just didn't live up to expectations sometimes. Maybe it was her expectations of herself that was doing her in. Maybe it was her paranoia.

"And I think you are beautiful." This wasn't entirely a lie. But it was designed to let him into her apartment. How long had he been standing there?

"It's okay, Derek. You don't have to take care of the loser." She stepped aside, allowing him to gain entry. Oh, he was certainly taking care of the loser. The loser being himself. Ideas thrown on the floor and trampled on after working to make a physical performance. But Ivy was referring to herself. Because she had lost the part of Marilyn. Mr Official Ivy Protector and Cheerleader had obviously relayed the news. As if this was a tragedy. It was a setback, but not an unusual one. How many performers get replaced after workshops? In the back of his mind, Derek wondered if Michael was currently moping around about getting fired. Derek wasn't here to take care of her. She shouldn't need anyone to take care of her.

"It's not what I'm doing."

"They want me back in the chorus." When would she stop with the complaining? He really wasn't here for her tonight. He needed something done. And that something would be done.

"You don't have to think about that tonight." _I'm not your cheerleader. You're talking to the wrong guy. It's no use complaining to me._ But he couldn't say that. It would jeopardise his chances of getting sex. Derek didn't like to make empty trips.

"I was good." Oh, goddammit, woman.

"Ivy, Ivy…" Derek sank down onto her bed, "you were better than good." _Seriously, can we get a move on?_

"You asked Karen to do her."

Tom had probably told her that as well. Was that such a relevant detail? He borrowed Eileen's words by way of explanation, "That was a failed experiment in every way."

"You've been hideous."

"You told me I was lousy in bed. In front of everyone." This was casual sex, but her words had still stung. He wasn't good in bed? Experience had told him otherwise. Her reactions during sex had told him otherwise. But her declaration was broadcasted to everyone, all of whom were definitely not privy to the extent of his sexual conquests.

Ivy bit her lip, leaning forward. "I lied." Ah, finally! Now they were getting somewhere.

"Good," Derek said, kissing Ivy, pressing her down onto the bed, as she pushed his jacket off him.

Mission accomplished.


End file.
